Wraith by Angel Lawson

the situation and the next he was practically forcing me into the car of a known delinquent.
    I was literally caught between the two of them: Evan, my best friend, on the sidewalk, and Connor, the beautiful, scary, intense boy I didn’t know or understand, waiting in his car. For a brief moment I considered running and ignoring the pleas of both of them, but instead I turned my back on Connor and looked Evan in the eye and said, “Why? Why is this so important?”
    He held my gaze and said, “Trust me. Please?”
    I sighed. “Fine, but you owe me an explanation when I get home.” I would have felt better if he would’ve said something, but his expression remained serious. Facing Connor and his small, crappy blue car, I said, “That is, if I make it home,” as I stepped off the curb, into a deep puddle.
    “Later,” was his reply and he was gone, leaving me to fend for myself. Annoyed, I moved around to the car and wrenched open the heavy, creaky door and dropped into the seat. As I removed my hood and strapped on my seat belt, Connor’s fingers reduced the volume on the stereo. He shifted into gear and the car let out a loud sputtering noise. Now I knew why he played his music so loud.
    His eyes flicked to the mess of CDs and books littering the floor and center console. “Sorry about the mess and the car; it’s crappy.” He shifted his gaze forward again. When I didn’t respond, he spoke again, “This car was my dad’s. He saved it from when he was in high school to give to me. I suspect it was a piece of junk then, too.”
    For some reason this struck me as funny; this guy, totally hot and dangerous, basically forced me into his car, and now he’s apologizing for how junky it is. Plus, the irony of his sentimental, thrifty father sounded very familiar. Damn it, I didn’t want things in common with him. Now I sat in Connor-the-fire-starter’s car, laughing uncontrollably because we had things in common. Like cars, and counseling, and seeing ghosts.
    “What?” he asked, a smile twitching at his lip. 
    I wiped my eyes and exhaled. “Nothing. What do you want? I knew you had a record, but kidnapping?”
    His eyes narrowed so tight I couldn’t see the blue. “You don’t know anything about me, Jane.” His voice was harsh and a little hurt.
    I twisted in my seat and face him. “Then why don’t you tell me something that I don’t hear whispered around the hallways at school?”
    He took a deep breath and exhaled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “What do you want to know?”
    What did I want to know? Who are you? Why are you bothering me? Can you really see my ghost? Did you go to jail? Are you a pyromaniac? Why do you make my stomach twist in knots just thinking about you?
    Rubbing my gloved hands over the top of my legs I decided to throw caution to the wind. “Can you really see him?”
    Connor’s hand reached to the lever between us and he down shifted as we rounded a curve. With fascination I watched the muscles of his arm clench under the fabric of his shirt. His movements were quick and fluid—easy. “Yeah, I can see him.”
    Our dual admission hung in the air and I longed to turn the music back up so there was something between us other than the noisy hum of the car and our breathing. I should have felt scared or weird or possibly exposed but I didn’t, not completely. For the first time in months, I wasn’t alone.
    “Is he the only one you see?” I asked, breaking the odd, yet comfortable tension.
    He glanced away from the windshield, looking me in the eye. “Now? Yes. But there have been others.”
    My stomach dropped. “Others?” I whispered. I didn’t want others. He nodded, his eyes back on the road and he turned into a large parking lot, getting off the road. “What are you doing?”
    Connor eased the car into a space, away from any other cars and put it in park, leaving the engine and heat running. “I just need to talk to you. Just for a minute. If you never